


déjà vu

by allechant



Category: Shall We Date?: Obey Me!
Genre: F/M, Minor Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-08
Updated: 2020-08-08
Packaged: 2021-03-05 21:46:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,619
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25782346
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/allechant/pseuds/allechant
Summary: there was something disturbingly familiar about solomon. she just wished she knew what it was.
Relationships: Main Character/Solomon (Shall We Date?: Obey Me!)
Comments: 6
Kudos: 54





	déjà vu

Solomon was rarely gentle.

Placing them together usually resulted in something going terribly wrong – they didn’t talk to each other, preferring to let their actions speak for them. Scratching and spitting, pushing and pulling – he was neither soft nor kind, but to be fair, she wasn’t the most loving person either.

She didn’t even know how they had fallen into each other this way. It seemed like one day she had been minding her own business, trying, as usual, to sort out the mess that was the House of Lamentation – then Solomon sent her a text, asking if they could meet at Purgatory Hall.

Out of curiosity and no small amount of spite, she agreed.

He wasn’t someone she got along very well with. Something within her recoiled the very first time she saw the white-haired sorcerer – some part of her had pulled away, hissing when he approached her and introduced himself. The feeling of _hatred_ was almost overwhelming, and even though she tried not to let it show on her face, she guessed that he could somehow sense the hostility she tried to bury deep within her chest.

From then on, he held her at a distance. He was cordial but their interactions were fleeting, practically non-existent. It made things rather awkward whenever Luke or Simeon asked her to visit and try some pastries or talk about her life in the human realm.

When she came over at his behest, the first thing she asked was what he wanted from her. She had no doubt he invited her over for a purpose – Solomon was not the type to make casual chit-chat, and she wondered how she knew that despite how little they spoke.

It was then that he clasped her hand between his and she stiffened, immediately wary of his next move. Part of her wondered if he was about to confess his feelings for her, perhaps – there was an intensity in his yellow-blue eyes that she’d never seen before.

But all he asked was whether or not she hated him. And for a moment, she wasn’t too sure how to respond – with the truth? She knew that the truth was unreasonable. It didn’t make sense that she held such strong emotions for a man she barely knew.

 _Tell me honestly._ It was this straightforward, almost demanding prompt that broke the hold on her tongue – immediately she pulled her hand away from him, hissing words filled with spite, an unconscious stream of thought that she could barely recall now, even if the rest of her memory was clear as day. She had no idea what she told him then, but she _did_ have a vague recollection of her repeatedly saying how much she loathed him.

When she was done, her chest heaving from exertion, still reeling from shock at her sudden outburst, Solomon pulled her towards him and kissed her, and at that moment she forgot about everything else – she could only think about his soft lips and how _hungry_ he felt, how his hands roamed across her body in a way that was almost familiar, how that same rage-filled part of her welcomed his touch, desire flooding her body at his nearness.

That was the first time they fucked. She couldn’t describe their engagements in any other way – Solomon never kissed gently, never whispered words of love and affection, never held her face between his hands so he could look deep into her eyes. Never did any of the things she secretly hoped he would during sex. It wasn’t that she wanted him to be tender with her, at least not outside of the bedroom. But she craved _some_ sort of intimacy – being with him like this felt almost hollow. Nothing like what she had been expecting when she first said yes.

There was an almost clinical precision in the way they did things, a rigidity that contradicted the chaos and the violence – if they kissed, they bit, and they bled. They left bruises that purpled and marred the skin; his back was covered in scratches, and more than once he had yanked out a fistful of hair that he’d have to magic back into place after they were done.

She lost track of the number of injuries they inflicted upon each other, accidentally or not, in the pursuit of their pleasure – but she wouldn’t give this up for anything in the world. Not when it was the only thing that quietened the seething fury within her; not when being with him felt like both the most amazing and terrible thing, all at the same time.

He was rarely gentle. But once in a while, she’d catch him running his hands through her hair, lifting locks of it to his lips, his eyes closing. In thought? In remembrance? She wasn’t sure. There was something almost sweet about these gestures, and she might have been moved if she ever thought there was anything more between them. But she knew there wasn’t.

As things were, they were simply scratching a mutual itch. She gave as good as she received, and she doubted there was anything else Solomon might want from her.

But sometimes, she caught him staring at her with a thoughtful look on his face, and once, she swore he almost said something – that for just one moment, recognition had flickered through his eyes and she hesitated, wondering if he had an explanation for the mysterious anger that never failed to bubble up within her at the sight of him.

Then he averted his gaze, and he was back to his usual, infuriatingly placid self. She couldn’t stand how calm he always was. How he felt like the tranquil blue sky, serene without a care in the world, while she was always suffering, ripping herself apart the moment she came close to him. If she was more rational, she would have avoided him. But she _wasn’t_ rational.

Whenever Solomon touched her, he was demanding, sometimes cruel. He’d wrap his fingers around her throat, and they hissed and spat at each other, a cacophony of pain ringing in their voices. It almost felt like he wanted to claw into her. Like he wanted to dig something out from underneath her skin and expose the raw, hot flesh that lay beneath the surface.

And she always returned his intensity, words sharp as knives falling from her lips. She’d rake her nails across his back and he never once flinched, never tried to stop her – he’d watch her with something almost like betrayal in his gaze, and she wondered who had hurt him.

She wondered what nightmares ran through his mind when he tried to sleep at night, why he didn’t like to be left alone in his room, why he’d rather put up with her insults and her jibes than to lie on an empty bed. He always came back no matter how viciously she treated him, even if tried her best to push him away in the hopes that he’d never return.

She never thought of him as a masochist, but then again, she wasn’t usually a sadist either.

One day, when they were together, her cries of pain and pleasure echoing through his room, he wound his fingers through her hair and pulled, forcing her to meet his gaze. _I love you_ , he said, but she realised that he wasn’t looking at her. That he was looking deeper, peering into her eyes in the hopes of pulling something, perhaps even _someone_ , out of her.

She snapped at him. There was no love lost between the two of them, or so she claimed even as her mouth searched for his, even despite the way he kissed her with the desperation of a drowning man clutching at straws. As their bodies melded, his eyes widened, and she heard his voice choke in his throat. Then his mouth opened, and a name fell from his lips.

It wasn’t hers. It was that of another woman. But something within her reacted all the same – her heart throbbed, and unexplainable emotions welled up within her. Hatred, longing, misery, desire. It was all so overwhelming, and she reached for him, clutching onto his shoulders like a lifeline.

There was relief in his gaze when her fingers dug into his skin and she screamed about how much she despised him, how she wished he would just _die_ so that he would suffer in all the ways he deserved. It was so instinctive that for a moment, she felt like she had lost control of her body – she knew it was _her_ hands on him, her voice ripping its way out of her throat, but the memories that flooded her mind weren’t familiar to her.

But when she started sobbing, it was as though a dam had broken – Solomon held her face between his hands, and there was something unspeakably tender about his touch.

He whispered again about how much he loved her, and she wondered why she was still so angry – why she recognised the name that had spilt from his lips, why her rage continued to churn despite his soft, gentle words. She ought to be happy that he did the exact thing she had long wanted him to do, but the thought of his hands upon her skin just made her – no, she wasn’t unhappy about it. But she was _conflicted_. Everything was so confusing.

When he told her that he’d been searching for centuries, that he’d spent all this time simply hoping for a chance to apologise, she stared back at him, unable to comprehend his words. There was genuine regret in his eyes. But what on earth was he talking about?

**Author's Note:**

> i changed my mind about placing this under ars goetia LOL it's too confusing for even me :')
> 
> ngl this probably worked a lot better as a twitter thread but oh well i just wanted to write something so...small wins??
> 
> yell at me on [twitter](https://mobile.twitter.com/dontenchantme)


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